“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
– Litany Against Fear from Frank Herbert’s Dune.
Behind the hoarding, behind the funny memes, behind even the stories of unexpected neighborliness, lies a single underlying emotion: Fear. We are afraid of whether we will have jobs to go back to, how great an educational loss our children will suffer, whether our parents and grandparents will survive the pandemic, whether we’ll have a roof over our heads, how we will feed our families. And the biggest fear of all: What lies on the other side of this pandemic, given that most of us will survive it?
The only thing we really know for sure is that what will be isn’t going to be what was. And that insecurity is incredibly frightening for most people.
So what do we do? Honestly, most of us translate that fear into inappropriate behavior. We deny the reality and powerlessness of our situation, substituting instead a Saturday morning cartoon version of the world. We get angry, and lash out at those who are closest to us. We hide ourselves, sliding slowly into the deep dark of apathy and depression. We engage in our addictions, whether they are alcohol, marijuana, opiates or love. We throw away our self-determination and abdicate our accountability, praying that some power greater than our own will step down from Heaven, Mt. Olympus, or Washington DC, and save us.
What we are loathe to do, however, is exactly what we should do: Let it happen. Admit to ourselves that no one is in control of this situation, much less those who actually claim to be. Especially them; surrounded by the filters of opportunists and sycophants, hidden within the twin towers of money and power, they have less of a grasp on reality than the six-year-olds among us.
You don’t have control of this situation! None of us does. Nobody, through their words or deeds, has the power to stop what is happening. So just...let it happen. Begin, as Herbert’s fictional ritual suggests, by submitting yourself to your fear. Look at it. Accept it. Acknowledge to yourself that you are afraid, perhaps more afraid than you’ve ever been. And then look at why you are afraid. Is it loss of livelihood? Family? Future?
Well, the cold hard fact is that you’ve never had control over any of that. Ever. You may have fooled yourself into thinking you have, when events and desires have coincided, but if you look closely, that belief is a myth. Sometimes, you and the universe have just been headed in the same direction.
Once you understand that, you are ready to understand that “let it happen” does not equate to “do nothing.” In fact, accepting and acknowledging the fact that you are scared actually gives you more options than you had before. You are no longer bound by the restrictions of your programmed, reflex reactions.
“Let it happen” actually means “do what’s right.” Knowing that the future is uncontrolled and uncontrollable, you are now free to do the right thing, whatever it is, at that moment. It may mean keeping another at arm’s distance; it may mean reaching out and holding them tightly. It may mean giving food to a neighbor; it may mean accepting a mattress on the floor. It may mean keeping to yourself; it may mean working together to forge a new community for a new time.
It also means a certain uncomfortable recognition, at least to the audience for whom I am writing. When you recognize and accept your uncertainty and your fear, it will also free you to see that there are people who have lived as you are afraid to live, every day of their lives. And within the bounds of their poverty of certainty, they continue to live lives of meaning and purpose.
I came to understand this through the eyes of my eldest daughter, who has spent several years wandering about this planet, frequently in places riven by war and poverty. And she has experienced, time and again, that the people who live in the most precarious situations, one step away from famine, one kilometer away from war, one drink away from drought – these are the people who were the kindest and gentlest of all. They knew privation, in their hearts and in their souls, and yet would reach out to strangers coming to them in times of need.
Now, I don’t want to ennoble deprivation, or glorify destitution, as there are bad actors among us everywhere. But it is an approach, an attitude, an assumption of life as it is, that people in these situations have adopted to make their lives bearable. And perhaps more than bearable, in a way that us children of privilege cannot understand. Yet it is time that we should.
You don’t have to go to Myanmar or Uganda to find this poverty. It exists right here, right now. In Waterbury, in Bridgeport, and even closer. Maybe even next door. We are neighbors.
Blessed are the meek, indeed, for they already know what most of us do not. And in your time of fear, look to them for instruction. We will not conquer this, for there is nothing to conquer. There is only the unfolding of events and our willingness to experience the process, whether it holds unwanted grief or unexpected joy. And in that acceptance, you will find freedom from your fear.